


Snow Blindness

by thecarlysutra



Series: Lakota Calendar [1]
Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Comfort Food, Fireplaces, M/M, Seriously why the fuck is it so cold?, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: It could be easy to forget that spring was just around the corner.<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: For rarepair100 prompt #11: winter and Mundane Bingo prompt: snow blindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Blindness

  
The Sioux had their own calendar, and it was part of the lessons in Lakota and general Indianness that Crow Horse and Grampa subjected Ray to. Most of February and into March was called _Istawicayazan Wi_ —When Eyes Hurt. At first, when Crow Horse had translated the words for him, Ray had not understood. But it had been summer then, and Ray, who had grown up with snowplows and road salt, could not imagine winter in the Badlands.

Ray stood at the window—frosted on both sides—looking out into the vast white wasteland. The sun radiated off it like light on a mirror; Ray flinched, feeling like the ant below the magnifying glass. If you looked at it too long, your eyes did hurt, and then your vision went funny. _Istawicayazan Wi_ also meant “snow blindness.”

If you looked at the snow too long, that was all you could see. It was overwhelming, and it could be easy to forget that spring was just around the corner.

***

Ray ached to the bone. After another night of doubles he felt so tired a strong wind might have blown him over, and there was no heat anywhere—not outside, or in the cruiser, or at home. Walter’s radiators hadn’t been updated since the First World War, and every night Ray lay awake, his muscles aching with shivering, so cold he wanted to cry. He only fell asleep after sheer exhaustion took him, and then he would inevitably wake up, freezing, before he was sated. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and he hadn’t been warm in longer.

He had called the airline today and asked about tickets back east, one way.

Ray’s last call of the night had been a long one, and as he drove over the crunching snow paving the driveway, he saw the windows burning orange: Crow Horse had beaten him home. Ray summoned the courage to brave the negative temperatures between the car and the house; it was snowing fresh, the flakes brittle as glass, stinging his flesh.

The house smelled like spice and warm apples. Ray froze in the doorway.

“Close the goddamn door!” came a voice from the kitchen. “You’re letting the cold in.”

Ray closed the door, and sleepwalked to the kitchen.

“I’d hate to let cold in to the lack of heat,” he said. “It smells incredible in here. What are you making?”

Crow Horse was presiding over the stove, which was burdened with several pots and pans. “Apple crisp.”

Ray smiled. “My mom used to make that when I was a kid. It was my favorite.”

“Yeah, I know. She gave me the recipe.”

Ray blinked, the smile sliding off his face. “You called my mother to trade recipes?”

Crow Horse poked at something with his spatula. “No. I called you mother to see if there was somethin’ could shake you out of this funk you been in ever since the first cold snap. She recommended food; I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. For all that tofu and granola, you sure like to eat.”

Ray felt something warm bloom in his chest.

“You called my mom,” he said.

Crow Horse shrugged. “Well, you weren’t talking.”

Ray ate too much, and then let Crow Horse talk him into leaving the dishes. Crow Horse puzzled through opening the flue of the ancient fireplace, and starting up a fire.

“I never used this goddamn thing; prob’ly got squirrels living in the chimney—”

“It’s really nice,” Ray said, and meant it.

Crow Horse pulled him down to the floor. Ray closed his eyes, let the forgotten sensation of warmth wash over him.

“Walter,” he said softly, but that was all he could manage.

Walter undressed him, and laid him out in the firelight. Ray was so close to the fireplace he could feel the heat like a physical force pressing down upon him, and then Walter’s hands, his mouth. Ray still had the taste of spiced apples in his mouth, and his head swam with memories of being loved and cared for. Sense memory was funny like that; a smell or a feeling, and you were back in another place, another time, instantly.

Walter’s hands were so gentle gliding over Ray’s heat raw flesh, and as he moved over him he whispered prayers and promises into Ray’s skin. Ray closed his eyes, and remembered the fresh bloom and honeysuckle sweetness of spring.  


  


  



End file.
